One In White
Author:
Beta'd by: Something's Gotta Break
Summary: A one-shot on Angela's life after her wedding to "some creep friend of her brother's"
(Bryon sure does word things nicely, huh?)
Disclaimer: If I was S.E. Hinton (no offense to you if you're reading this, because I honestly don't know what you do in your free time) I'm sure I'd have better things to do. (Maybe like write a sequel?)
XXX
It's a simple dress, with just a bit of lace on the hem, but it means -meant- everything to me. The only thing I have from my mother, and I wanted to wear it on my wedding day to the man I love.
A bitter laugh escapes my throat as I slam the door on the small closet, blocking the offending piece of fabric. A man I love? The only two men I ever gave a damn about were Bryon and Pony – no, Curtis. Bryon and Curtis, and I have neither.
And to top that, it had all been a mistake. Turns out I wasn't pregnant.
I'd never been very fast on the uptake. Plus, I'd gone to Tim, against my own better judgement. Maybe it was that little girl part of me, the one that looked up to Tim and thought he had an answer for anything. The one I thought I'd killed at twelve.
Oh, he'd had an answer, all right. Faster than you could say Curly-cried-after-he-burnt-his-finger-playing-chicken-with-Curtis, I was married to the leader of Brumly. Tim had used me as just a pawn in his game of alliances and enemies.
It was a short ceremony – no, scratch that. There was no ceremony at all. I just signed my name on the contract, Tim forced him to agree reluctantly that I could stay at home and continue school (not that I wanted to do either) and I was legally "wed". No chance to wear my dress, no kiss, no clapping, not even a wolf whistle.
Not that I wanted to kiss that disgusting hood, anyway. But you know.
Memories of kissing Bryon flash through my head, and after that, the memory of that bitch Carlson kissing him.
XXX
Not that I was stalking them. No, I was following Curtis. He'd just left, after crouching down near the dark stain by the fountain and muttering something. I was about to leave too when I heard Bryon's voice and wondered what he was doing in Curtis Gang territory.
They were sitting in that old car of the dead bartender's and trying to suck each other's faces off. My face had been turning red with anger when a dark shape dropping out of the trees behind me caught my attention.
"So, Miss Shepard, running after Douglas again? As you can see, he's taken." Matthews offers helpfully, his grey eyes twinkling even in the dusky light. An old camera's in his right hand.
"What are you doing after him?" I fling the question back. I'm not in danger here. The Curtis boys and their friends have always been on good terms with Tim's gang. Even though none of them are bad fighters, they have a reputation for not picking fights. "I had no idea you swung that way, Matthews. And as you can see, neither of them are blonde."
The redheaded playboy laughs at me, the grease in his hair visible even from here. "Actually, I was getting some photos to show the kid. As you know, he's got a crush on little Cathy there. Needs to be shown she isn't up for grabs."
He turns around and heads in the direction of that old lot they use for a hangout, the shadows soon hiding him from view. Probably just as well, because if looks could kill...so she had both boys I wanted after her? Oh, she'd pay.
XXX
I smile, back in the present. Sweeping my curls back, I tug on my best black blouse. Damn married life or not, it was time to get back into the dating game.
Another thought reaches me – what does Carlson love? Bryon, yeah...what about that little hippie brother of hers? Wonder how she'd feel if he was slipped some acid by "accident"?
I dash across the house to Curly's room. Holding my nose, I reach into the top drawer and grab the last of LSD from his short lived life as a pusher. Tim's old mustang he "borrowed" from a car dealer years ago is still in the garage. It'll be only too simple to get to that disgusting commune house...
Returning to my room, I open the closet and run my hands over the soft fabric once more. Pushing the dress across gently, I grab the keys to the old car and step back. And if my plan works out like it's supposed to, I still have a chance to be the one in white on my own, if only imaginary, wedding day.
XXX
I'm gonna show 'em what a little girl's made of, gunpowder and lead...
Kinda short... but heck, it made three pages on my screen! Review, pretty please?